She whispers to me in hushed tones,
Tugs at my sleeve and heartstrings.
I bat her away like a relentlessly annoying fly,
and even then she gets up again.
She’s at my heels and has my back,
even though hers is chafed from falling incessantly.
Like a violinist, I ruffle her cords every time I distrust her.
But she stays.
But for how much longer will she stay?
And for how much longer will I let fear remain a wall?
I fear she may break her back someday,
and leave me all alone.
And then I shall be the straw that broke intuition’s back.